


Not There Yet

by mmorgan317



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale whump, Hints of Aziraphale and Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Light Crowley Angst, Light Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmorgan317/pseuds/mmorgan317
Summary: Crowley thought he and Aziraphale had escaped from their punishments scot-free. It isn’t until he surprises his angel that he finds out how wrong he was. Aziraphale whump (light), Crowley angst (light).





	Not There Yet

**Author's Note:**

> 1) There’s some debate within the religious community about whether or not ropes were used in the crucifixion. In the Good Omens tv show, they do not use ropes, and there are some who believe they weren’t used. There are others (myself included) who think the human body couldn’t be held up with nails alone and therefore both were used. And since it fits my whumpy purposes to have ropes (as well as nails), I’m including them. 
> 
> 2) I realize that Jesus was not a child when he was put on the cross. However, from the angel’s or demon’s standpoint, I believe they would have considered him a child even if he had lived till old age. Therefore, I have Aziraphale calling Jesus a child. 
> 
> 3) I have yet to read the book Good Omens (I’m waiting for it from the library - hold number 12 of 20), so most of my knowledge of the characters, timelines, etc, is all from the TV show. Once I have read the book, I hope to write another fic with better characterization. Until then, please be gentle, and if things are canonically correct, please refer to this note. 
> 
> 4) This is unbeta'd, so I apologize in advance for any errors/mistakes therein.

“Alright, Angel, let’s go try this new restaurant,” Crowley announced with defeat coloring his tone as he made his way into the bookshop. Aziraphale had been talking about this place non-stop for a week, giving him pleading eyes each time it was mentioned, all but begging Crowley to try it with him without actually asking. Crowley held out as long as he could, but since he wanted to spend some time with the angel and couldn’t think of a better reason to give, he finally conceded.

What few customers Aziraphale had looked up at him in surprise for a moment, annoyance or curiosity in their faces, before they resumed their perusal of whatever book they’d picked up. Ignoring their existence, Crowley advanced to the back where he knew his angel would be.

Aziraphale sat at his work desk, fiddling with a small jar of something in his hands. Rather than being impeccably dressed as was his usual, Aziraphale wore only his pristine sky-blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his plaid bowtie. His overcoat and waistcoat hung seemingly forgotten on the coatrack the angel kept for guests to use. Indeed, everything seemed to have been forgotten as Aziraphale struggled to open the bottle.

A flash of red had Crowley stifling an urge to directly inspect what appeared to be wounds encircling his angel’s wrists. Ever since the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, things between them had progressed, but no where near to the point of Crowley showing just how much the angel meant to him; Aziraphale wasn’t ready for that quite yet. Instead, Crowley leaned against the supporting beam which lay in the middle of the room, crossing his arms over his chest so as to appear more relaxed than he felt, then asked, “What happened?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, clearly startled. His hands toggled the jar in an attempt to prevent himself from dropping it before he eventually allowed it to fall onto the table. Red colored Crowley’s vision literally and figuratively as the lines around Aziraphale’s wrists became unmistakeable while he held the bottle in place. “What are you doing here?’

“I came to take you to lunch,” Crowley answered. Pushing away from the post, he grabbed the bottle before Aziraphale could protest. “What’s in this?”

“No, Crowley, put that down, I beg you.”

The desperateness in Aziraphale’s voice struck a chord with Crowley, taking him back to the time when he had asked the angel for some holy water; his angel was frightened and not for himself. Now handling the jar like it was a bomb about to go off, Crowley placed it back onto the table then stepped as far away from it as he could get while remaining near his friend. “What’s going on, Angel?”

“A mutual acquaintance of ours whipped that up for me,” Aziraphale answered, moving the bottle so that it was far out of Crowley’s reach.

“This mutual acquaintance wouldn’t happen to live in Tadfield, would they?”

In spite of no longer having a reason to remain in Great Britain now that the apocalypse had been averted, Anathema Device had managed to find one in the form of Mr. Pulsifer. Two more opposite humans probably could not be found, yet they worked well together. Rather than moving back to their respective homes, they remained in Jasmine Cottage and were slowly building a life together.

“They would, as a matter of fact. She sends her regards, by the way.”

Whether or not that was true, Crowley didn’t know and nor did he care. In this existence there was only one being’s opinion he concerned himself with and that was the angel sitting in front of him, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Couldn’t you just miracle whatever it is away?” he asked, hoping his suspicions were wrong.

“Normally, I would, but these,” he lifted up his hands, gently rotating his arms and giving Crowley a better view of the marks, “were not made by human means, and as a result, I cannot heal them by the usual methods.”

“I think you’d better start from the beginning,” Crowley said, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the easily flustered angel if they attempted to start anywhere else. _Then again,_ he thought, remembering back to when Aziraphale had tried to start at the _very_ beginning when he’d been asked for an explanation during the almost-apocalypse, _perhaps it might be easier to start from the middle._

“Of course,” Azirphale agreed, standing up. “But you know, I really am famished, and I do believe this would be a better story over some lunch, wouldn’t you agree?”

No, Crowley wouldn’t agree, because the moment they sat down to their meal, Aziraphale would being to get on other subjects and by the end of the night, he would manage to avoid the whole subject entirely. As this was too important to allow himself to be distracted, Crowley sat down, placing his feet on top of the desk and got comfortable. “Start talking.”

Aziraphale hesitated, clearly not wanting to comply. “You know, I believe I should close up the shop first.”

As Crowley couldn’t think of a reason _not_ to do that, he allowed his friend this brief respite. While they had been conversing, almost everyone who had been in the shop when he’d entered had left; the door only opened once, then the lock slid into place and the sign was flipped to closed.

“Now then,” Aziraphale said, his tone perfectly pleasant, as he sat back down. “Where were we?”

“You were just about to explain why you need a jar filled with holy water goo to help you heal something you should be able to do with the wave of a hand.”

“Ah, yes. That. Well, you see, when the demons took me, that is, took you for trial down below, they didn’t use the standard rope as we had planned.” Crowley felt a weight sink in his stomach as he suspected where this was going. In his agitation, Aziraphale began to fiddle with the marks, his fingers barely grazing the outer edge of the abraded skin before he quickly withdrew. “Instead, they used The Ropes, meaning, the ropes that were used to bind the child to the cross-”

“-and now gives abrasions and burns that never heal to anyone they are used on, yeah, I know what _The Ropes_ are, Angel,” Crowley interrupted, knowing very well that his friend could and would get hung up on the details rather than progressing with the story. Then, since he was not only more familiar with the ropes in question, he was also fairly certain he could finish the tale in record time, he took over the telling of it. “So they used The Ropes on me, in hopes it would give me a constant reminder of my crimes as well as a constant punishment. Is that about it?”

Except that they hadn’t been used on Crowley, they’d been used on Aziraphale. This mixup was perhaps both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Aziraphale could actually withstand the treatment that was required to heal the burns - Holy water was the only way to cleanse the wounds, a fact which Crowley’s fellow demons had been counting on when they’d tied them around “Crowley’s” wrists. On the other hand, this meant that Aziraphale, _his_ angel, had been in pain ever since their verdicts had been decided several weeks ago.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, now looking at anything but Crowley. “Well, yes.” When he finally looked at Crowley, he quickly added, “Now Crowley, don’t be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Crowley asked, clearly failing at acting nonchalant. The fact of the matter was, he was seething. He would have loved nothing more than to visit his former coworkers and douse them all in holy water for daring to mark his angel. The only thing that held him back was the fact that it would complicate both of Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s lives, and that was definitely something they didn’t need. So, instead, he changed the subject. “Do you need help?”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in confusion. Whether it was because he had expected more of an argument from Crowley, or because of something else entirely, Crowley couldn’t tell. While he loved his angel, Crowley hadn’t quite managed to figure out the way his mind worked. Aziraphale’s blue eyes traveled down to the bottle before he fixed them back on Crowley. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

Probably not, but Crowley wasn’t going to say that out loud because then he definitely wouldn’t be allowed to help. “Oh, I don’t think there will be too much of a problem. Several layers of gloves aught to do the trick.”

“There’s a box of medical gloves with the first aid kit,” Aziraphale answered, his tone suggesting he still had reservations about this plan, but that he was willing to comply for now. “There’s a pair of cleaning gloves under the sink; you should probably grab those as well.”

“Why on Earth would I want to wear gloves meant for cleaning?” Crowley complained as he went and grabbed the aforementioned medical gloves and medical kit.

“Because they are longer and will protect your arms from exposure lest the goo, as you so flippantly call it, drip onto your arms.”

Since Crowley knew his angel had a point there, he grabbed the longer, thicker, gloves on his way back. He placed them all on the table beside the jar of venomous goop, eyeing it dubiously, then pulled up another chair. “Gimme,” he said as he placed several layers of the latex gloves on. For a moment he debated adding the cleaning gloves, but he quickly decided it was overkill. The sleeves of his clothing was more than adequate protection, and he truly didn’t think the glop would go anywhere he didn’t want it to. After a moment’s thought, Crowley added another couple layers of gloves, opened the jar, then took hold of Aziraphale’s arm.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want to wear the yellow gloves?” the angel asked, worry evident in his tone. “The salve can be pretty drippy.”

Crowley eyed the items in question with disgust. “Positive.”

In response, Aziraphale’s fingers curled around Crowley’s arm, the angel’s hand covering a good portion of Crowley’s exposed wrist. “Just in case,” he said, as though Crowley didn’t already know the angel’s reason for doing what he’d done.

Not looking forward to what he was about to do, Crowley dipped his fingers into the goo, flinching even though nothing happened, and looked at his friend. “You ready?” After a hesitant nod of Aziraphale’s head, Crowley began gently spreading the salve onto the abrasions.

The second the stuff touched the wounds, smoke immediately began to drift upwards. Aziraphale, not usually one to express feelings of pain, gave a small gasp and his fingers tightened their hold. Knowing that pausing to allow the pain to diminish wouldn’t actually help since this was how it was going to be the entire time, Crowley pressed on. This time Aziraphale groaned, the sound starting deep in his chest and ending in his throat where he held it behind clenched teeth.

“So…Why didn’t you tell me what they’d done?” Crowley asked, hoping it would give both of them something else to focus on. As necessary as this was, he hated the pain he was causing. Yes, he was a demon. Yes, it was sort of his job description. But Crowley had never been the kind of demon who enjoyed causing others, humans or otherwise, pain. As this was Aziraphale he was hurting, he would rather have done anything else.

“Would it have made any difference?” Aziraphale answered, his voice rougher. He paused to allow Crowley to answer, though he had to have known that Crowley didn’t have any intention whatsoever in doing that. “What was done, was done. Nothing was going to be solved by my telling you. And besides, I was already working on a solution to the problem, so there was no need to worry about it anyways.”

“So you were hoping I wouldn’t notice, is that it?”

“Yes, essentially,” Aziraphale answered without embarrassment. He winced as Crowley began wrapping gauze around his wrists. “To be fair,” he added, sounding more hesitant, “it _did_ take you this long for you to notice them, didn’t it?”

Not wishing to show how much that observation bothered him, Crowley kept focused on his task. Why _had_ it taken so long for him to notice anything was amiss? Was it simply because Aziraphale was good at hiding it from him? Or was it to do with the sense of guilt he could feel settling in his chest?

“Please,” Aziraphale said when Crowley grabbed his other hand, preparing to continue, “not yet. I need a bit of time to…it feels like my arm is on fire.”

“Probably because it is,” Crowley retorted, hiding his annoyance at everything behind some snark; Demons don’t do well with guilt. Very carefully, he peeled the latex gloves off, taking care to ensure the holy water gloop didn’t touch him as he did so.

There was a moment of quiet as Crowley went to the bin to toss the used gloves and roll his shoulders. He was tense, and angry. Now would be the perfect moment to go and do some tempting, though he no longer officially worked for downstairs, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to go through that process again by himself. Whatever Crowley may be feeling, none of this was the angel’s fault.

“The angels,” Aziraphale said, a slight pause suggesting that, perhaps, he didn’t really want to say what he was about to say. “They didn’t do anything similar, did they?” 

Ah, of course. The angel was worried Crowley had ended up in the same position as himself. “Don’t worry, Angel,” Crowley assured. “Other than make me wish I could swallow them whole, your friends upstairs did nothing to me.”

At that, Aziraphale stiffened. “They’re _not_ my friends,” he said with more conviction than Crowley had ever heard him use when talking about their friendship. Heaven’s compliance in starting the apocalypse must have happened to sour that bond. _Good_.

“Glad to hear it.” Crowley sat down once again, applying the multiple layers of latex over his hands to assure he isn’t accidentally discorporated while helping out a friend, then grabbed Aziraphale’s right hand. “Ready?”

Once again making sure that his hand covered as much of Crowley as possible, Aziraphale nodded. “As the Americans put it: let’s do this.”

 

 

**oOo**

 

Some would think that. after having gone through the first round, the second wouldn’t be quite as bad. Well, Aziraphale could equivocally tell them they would be wrong. While his left arm continued to feel as though it were being held over a flame, the right lit up with the fires of heaven and hell the instant Crowley touched the salve to his wound. The intensity of it all stole his breath (not that he really needed it, after all, but after six thousand years habits were hard things to break) and his hand clenched Crowley’s arm as the pain doubled tenfold the longer the treatment continued.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to any but himself, and possibly God since She knew everything, Aziraphale was glad Crowley was with him during this process. The demon may not have been with him during the highs of his long lived existence, but he had been there during single one of his lows. In comparison to being imprisoned for dressing like an aristocrat in 1790s Paris, this was a very minuscule thing indeed, yet Aziraphale couldn’t help feeling grateful for his friend’s support.

A groan escaped him before he could stop it, and he ground his teeth together to stop more from escaping. While he knew perfectly well that demons enjoyed inflicting pain, Aziraphale also knew that Crowley had never been one of them. It was one of the many things that set the demon apart from the rest of his kind, and it was one of several reasons why Aziraphale liked him.

“Do you still want to go to that restaurant?”

The question was so out of the blue that it threw Aziraphale for a moment. “What?” he asked, wanting to make sure he heard right.

“Do you still want to try out that new restaurant that you haven’t shut up about since it opened?” Crowley reiterated and expanded on in one.

Aziraphale winced in spite of himself; Crowley was gentle as he wrapped gauze around the marks, but even so, it burned. As soon as Crowley was finished, Aziraphale swiftly put the jar away, not wanting to risk his friend’s health (or existence for that matter) any longer. As a matter of face, Aziraphale _wasn’t_ hungry any longer, but he wasn’t about to tell Crowley that. “Actually, yes, if you’re still willing to join me?”

_Oh, that sounded a bit too much like a gentleman asking someone on a date._ Aziraphale risked a look at Crowley to see how the demon had interpreted it, relaxing when he saw a small smirk on his friend’s face. Whatever Crowley may be thinking, at least he wasn’t upset by Aziraphale’s misspoken words.

“Then it’s a date,” Crowley answered, his grin growing wider.

“Oh. Well. I don’t know that date is the correct term for-”

“Relax Angel,” Crowley soothed as he stood up and held the door to the bookshop open for them. “I know you’re not ready yet.”

Aziraphale thought about arguing against the inference of the ‘yet’, but he let it go because his friend was right. He had been fighting how he felt about Crowley for six thousand years. At first, it had been because he’d been a demon. Then it had been because they were quickly heading towards friends.

Now, that the apocalypse was averted and their sides no longer seemed to care what they did (within reason of course), Aziraphale was fighting a completely different feeling towards the demon. Crowley was right, he wasn’t quite ready yet, but, like Crowley, Aziraphale knew he would get there. So long as the Earth continued rotating, Aziraphale had all the time in the world to get used to his love for the demon.

_Fin_


End file.
